The French Obsession with Concours

In France, it’s hard to ignore the word concours. It doesn’t just mean exams. It refers to a whole logic of selection, deeply embedded in the educational system — and, more broadly, in the cultural idea of merit. Unlike typical exams, where the goal is to reach a minimum passing score, a concours is competitive by nature. Only a limited number of candidates will be admitted, regardless of how many meet the required level. It’s not about being “good enough”; it’s about being better than the others.

These selective exams are everywhere: access to top schools, entry into master’s programs, civil service careers, even teacher training. And behind them is the belief that formal evaluation is the fairest path to opportunity that those who succeed do so on merit alone.

In theory, this reflects a republican ideal: anyone, no matter their background, should be able to “earn” their place through knowledge and effort. In practice, though, the system often reproduces inequality. Success in concours tends to correlate with resources: tutoring, preparatory classes, a calm home environment, and cultural familiarity with how the system works.

The psychological pressure starts early. Already in collège, students hear about the exams they’ll face later. By the time they reach lycée, much of the curriculum — and their lives — is shaped by that horizon.

Against this backdrop, the experience of foreign students stands out. Most of them don’t go through concours. They apply through a separate route, based on dossiers, motivation letters, and formal eligibility. This creates tension: some view it as an unfair shortcut, others as a rare opportunity to bypass internal barriers. I see both perspectives. And I often say this to the students I work with: if you struggled with math or didn’t meet the domestic admission threshold, you might still get into a good university abroad — not by lowering standards, but by presenting a strong dossier, well thought out and aligned with your goals. Of course, none of this guarantees success after admission. Studying in a foreign university comes with its own challenges. But when it comes to access, the rules are different — and sometimes, more open.

Concours is more than a mechanism. It’s a symbol of a system that treats formal selection as the only legitimate gateway to knowledge and status. This doesn’t make it wrong but it does make it particular. And understanding that particularity is key to navigating the system, whether from inside or outside.

And maybe this is where literature steps in — not to explain the system, but to remind us what it feels like to grow up on its margins. One novel that captures this beautifully is La vie devant soi by Romain Gary, writing as Émile Ajar. Through the eyes of Momo, a boy living in the overlooked stairwells of Belleville, it speaks about survival, dignity, and the quiet desire for a future. The story isn’t about schools or exams, but about being seen — about having the right to imagine that you matter.

@lilian_lori